The Phantom Legend
by NoName99
Summary: A once highly respected racer now feels the need to once again hold the title as Legend, and must race his way to the top.
1. Speed King

Disclaimer: I don't own Tokyo Extreme Racer Zero. I don't own the cars, or the any characters other than my own.  
  
Please review. Thank you  
  
They say that behind every great man is some type of possession or item, normally depending on the situation. On the highway, that possession happens to be his or her car. A machine that from the start is built to perfection and that perfection is only taken to another level with every upgrade. So can one actually claim the throne as owning the vehicle? The one and only vehicle that has achieved such heights, that is almost impossible for others to achieve? Even if that were the case, how would someone go about doing this...through fame? Wealth? Skill? Corruption? Power? Luck? From past experience, and talking to people, the average racer comes up with about five different questions every second. The average highway race lasts about one minute. Three hundred questions...during a race a person can normally ask themselves about three hundred questions. Sad to say, over half of those questions are useless. But out of those three hundred, 299 of them are the ones that really have no effect on the outcome. That really serve no purpose in how well you do. It all boils down to the one question that ever racer tries not to ask. Am I going to win? A five word question is all it takes to add immeasurable pressure to a person to the point of a simple jerk on the wheel, and causing the person to lose control of the car. Here's another statistic. Over your whole racing career, if you ask yourself that for every time you race, and if you race once a day, everyday, that's 365 times that you've put your race on the line, all because you couldn't keep focused.  
With all of that said, some people would say that there are so many factors that determine the winner of a race. Others say that there are too many. Out of all of them, there are two factors that everyone can agree on. The first being skill. With skill it boils down to this. Whatever you do to win the race is skill. I've always doubted that there's such a thing called a lucky win. The screw ups that any racer makes are his or her fault. The second factor is dreaded more by every racer than skill, and the five word question. Speed. It's a nightmare for any racer to drive on the highway totally prepared, and to watch as the rear bumper of their opponent's car vanishes within seconds. In the other hand, speed is sometimes what causes a great comeback in a race, when a racer snatches his or her victory from "the jaws of defeat".  
Nevertheless though, the word said aloud and alone sounds just as powerful as it looks. Speed. And with another simple four lettered word, the one powerful word alone then becomes a phrase that makes any racer on the highway cringe in their seats no matter how relaxing the environment may seem. King. Speed King. A phrase that can be titled as the tyrant of phrases. And with the highway like a kingdom, every great kingdom comes with a great ruler. There isn't a better name that suits the ruler than the two most powerful words combined.  
That one racer (Speed King) stands at the very top as the most highly respected racer, and with his thirteen generals, they all come together to form the strongest group of all the highways of Tokyo, The 13 Devils.  
Those who can defeat all fourteen of these racers, come out as legends, and for the most part are respected by almost all. But when the new legend arises, the old legend becomes a faint memory of the past, and his glory may only be reclaimed by once again climbing to the top. Since the history of highway racing, there have been but two legends. The first, being Speed King himself who raced and defeated every racer. He never lost a race, until I entered the kingdom. I was the second. Once I came out on top, I felt there was no longer a purpose in continuing with a spare time career such as this. The very car that allowed me to come out on top now sits in a garage. Because I left the roadways, and haven't returned for two years, I stripped myself of my title, and I'm now thought of as nothing. And even though life has been less hectic, less stressful...I miss the rush, and the pressure behind every race.  
Behind every great man is some type of possession or object depending on the situation. On the highways, it's his or her car. I craved to be the great man that I once was, and that very crave was what lead me back to the highway to claim again what was rightfully mine. With over hundred's of racers to defeat, there was only one who kept me from my title as legend. The only threat there was. Speed King. 


	2. The Key

**Disclaimer:** I forgot to put one in the first chapter, so my bad. Anyway, any car manufacturers or names I did not create. The names of different rival groups or racers I did not create either unless I list them in my bio. And now here's my story.  
  
It must have been somewhere around two o'clock in the morning, and I was sitting at my car, just staring at the dash board. It wasn't as if the car itself had just given me a total shock of amazement and excitement which would render me helplessly. Sitting in the car made me realize how much I had given up, not too mention how much more I could have gained. My past memories of racing just gave me a sense of non satisfaction to the point that I realized when I quit; I really wasn't finished with racing. What I had done was created an exile...an exile that wanted to return, but was looking for the ok. Looking for the key.  
I was so deep in a state of trance, that the when I heard the buzzard in my apartment, I jumped and hit my head on the ceiling of the car. While walking towards the door and holding my head, I talked through the intercom. "Who is it?"  
"It's me, Rick," and I pushed the button to let him come in. Rick was no only a racer in a group called Unlimited, but he was also a close friend of mine. The first time I met him was in a bar in downtown Tokyo, when me and some people from my job were celebrating someone's birthday. Rick was a calm, collected type person. There's never been any time where I've seen him lose his temper.  
After he had made his way up the stairs, I opened the door and asked him something, "So what brings you here at two in the morning?"  
"What does it matter? You and I both know that you weren't sleeping, seeing as how you answered the door way too fast."  
"But still, it's two in the morning. What if someone was over?" Rick then let out a huge sigh.  
"Listen, we both know you don't have a girlfriend, and you're not married. The only life you have now is your job, and when we go to the bar. And the last time we went to the bar was when, April."  
"Alright...so two months of no bar. Anyway, I'm gonna go fix some coffee. You want anything?"  
"I'll take a cup," I then headed towards the kitchen and started reaching in cabinets and drawers. "Listen, I know how you want to go back to racing."  
"That's interesting; now tell me something I don't know."  
"That's exactly why I came over."  
"At two in the morning?"  
"Ok! So I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by."  
"At two in the morning?"  
"Are you gonna let me finish or not?" I then shut up, and continued to make the coffee. "Things aren't as easy as they used to be. The 13 Devils aren't the supreme rulers of the highway anymore."  
"That doesn't sound like it's that bad."  
"That's because you didn't hear this part. There are thirty bosses now. And the head guy, you know, the boss of everything, it's not Speed King anymore. The new ruler is a guy who goes by the name Tyrant."  
While walking over to Rick with two cups of coffee, I tried to collect my thoughts on what I was going to say. "Wait a minute. Thirty new bosses don't just..." he then cut me off.  
"No. It's not thirty new bosses. How do I want to explain this...alright. The 13 Devils are still a boss group, only they don't have Speed King. There are three different boss groups that rule the highways. The 13 Devils are the lowest ranking group. Followed by them is a group called Mutiny. They have twelve racers, including Speed King. He's the leader of that group. Then the highest ranking group is called Tyrant's Armada. I'm pretty sure you can figure out who's in charge of that one."  
"If that was as confusing as I think it was. But anyway, it's seems pretty awkward because it sounds like what you are telling me is some guy just walked in and took over just like that. And that sounds impossible, because I've never seen anything in my life travel faster than Speed King's car."  
"Well one of the neighboring cities had highway problems. Cops were keeping too close of a watch on the highways. Racers got arrested almost every night. So the leader from that city came to Tokyo and talked to Speed King, only Speed King didn't know where to place him and his other ruling group members. So Speed King and the guy raced. A lot of people said ten seconds into the race, Speed King couldn't see the guy's rear bumper anymore."  
"You do know these people have actual names right?"  
"Well these are easier to remember. So after the race, they settled that since that guy's car was way more powerful than Speed King's, that he should be the soul ruler of Tokyo Highways. Five of his followers got placed into the Mutiny group, along with six other very powerful racers native to Tokyo. The guys other four followers, who are almost as hard to beat as him, got placed into the group Tyrant's Armada. And ever since, that's the way it's been."  
"How much more confusing can you possibly make this?"  
"You'll grow to understand it over time. And your coffee sucks."  
"It's," and again he interrupted me.  
"I know it's two in the morning."  
"Actually I was going to say that the coffee's been here for about a year now."  
"Oh, well that'll explain it. But still, after all of these changes. Plus there are about seventy new racers added to Tokyo, do you honestly think you want to return to racing?"  
"Why is it so bad that I wanna return to racing?"  
"Because you've already proven that you have the skill. That you possess the ability to defeat the one person who supposedly shouldn't be able to be defeated. It's almost as if you defied the laws of highway racing."  
"Maybe I don't want to prove anything. Maybe I just want to go back to racing. Like you said, I don't have too much of a life right now," right then, Rick was staring at my palms.  
"Let me see your hands."  
"What's wrong with my hands?"  
"Nothing just let me see them."  
"You have two of your own. Look at those."  
"Do you have something to hide?"  
"I don't have anything to hide."  
"Then let me see them," and I reluctantly put out my hands. He flipped both of them palm side up. "I know you're not suicidal, and besides those aren't cut marks. You've been clinching the wheel of your car haven't you?"  
"It's not like its law saying I can't. Besides, who else doesn't?"  
"But you've been clinching it too hard, too long."  
"I guess you have a point."  
"You're right I have a point. And maybe you're right."  
"Right about what?"  
"Maybe you should go back to racing."  
"I don't know. I think I should, and at the same time, I feel like I shouldn't."  
"Well what do you have to lose?" I couldn't help but thinking that I had a lot to lose, when the reality of the fact was that I honestly had nothing to lose but money if I lost a race. I had already lost my reputation, I had lost my life, and now I was losing a grip on the real world. There would be nights where I would go to sleep in my bed, and walk up in my car. I knew and could agree though I didn't have anything to lose.  
"When should I start?"  
"Whenever you feel would be best for you I guess. You could start tomorrow night if you truly felt you wanted to."  
"I guess I'll start sometime this week."  
"Sounds like a plan of some sort. Well, I'm out of here. I think I've overstayed my visit. Besides, I gotta stop by a bar and drink something to get rid of the taste of your moldy coffee."  
"I'll keep that in my mind when you want something." Rick got up and started walking towards the door, and then he stopped and turned around.  
"Before I forget, the real reason why I came over was tell you something. Well, more like give you something," he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small folded sheet of paper. "This Speed King's number. He said he wanted to meet you in person and talk to your for a minute. I'd give him a call tomorrow through out the day, because nine times out of ten, he's probably still racing."  
"Thanks," I then closed the door behind Rick as he left. Even after meeting with Rick, talking to him, and what he told me, I still felt the compulsive urge to walk back to the car and do nothing but think. Only at that point, I knew that if I was honestly going to return to racing, I had to drop the past. I knew it would be a thorn in my side, and it wouldn't allow me to stay sharp and focused.  
While scratching my head, I just sat down on the sofa, and started watching TV. I knew I had to go sleep, and if anything, that would be the only thing to keep my mind pre-occupied, but I just felt as if the TV was more relaxing. It was so relaxing, that I ended up lying down on the couch and falling asleep anyway.  
The next morning I woke up groggy, and tired. I also woke up late for work, and just ended up calling in sick. I started to reach for the remote to turn the TV off, and I noticed the sheet of paper Rick had given to me last night. If anything I knew that that phone number was my ticket to finally making me ready to go back to racing on the highways.  
I had the key, and was standing right in front of the gate. If I was ready, without mass hesitation, I would turn the key. And that's exactly what I did. 


	3. Clean Slate

I must have been out of my mind to think that any person would be awake at nine in the morning, especially after a night of racing. But I figured that people do have lives outside of the night life. With each ring, time seemed to slow down to a dead halt, until a voice sounded through the phone. "Good morning, how may I help you?"  
  
"Um...good morning. This is Jack."  
  
"Jack...hmm, Jack. I'm sorry I don't know a...hold on one moment please," I waited patiently trying to figure out what was going on. I had a fear that the opportunity was right in front of me, and it was shot down because of a wrong phone number. Just then a different voice sounded through the phone. It was deeper. "Good morning Jack. I see you got my message."  
  
"Yeah I did. So I heard you want to meet in person."  
  
"Indeed. There's a coffee shop about ten blocks down from your apartment. We'll meet at nine."  
  
"But it's nine right now."  
  
"P.m."  
  
"Sorry about that."  
  
"No worries, it didn't kill anyone. But does that sound ok?"  
  
"Yeah, sounds fine. I'll be there," and with that, he hung up. Looking around the room, and remembering that I had called in sick, I pretty much had nothing to but lounge around the house till that evening. Eating, sleeping, and watching TV all helped make time fly by up until about 8:30. At that point I was ready, and just grabbed a coat and walked straight out the place.  
  
While walking down the street, every shop window was lit up with hanging lights, or neon displays. Countless people were wandering and walking all over the place. But the lights, the lights caught my attention. The lights sent me into a deep state of trance along with a flashback. My mind ventured back to the point of my last race. I could remember the break lights of cars on the highway, and the faint sight of the rear bumper of Speed King's car. My hands were dug into the wheel; tightly enough that drops of red were falling to the floor. With one gear left, and hoping it would make the difference, my right hand shot from the wheel to the stick. I heard the engine grow silent for that split second, that split second of relief. Then everything in my mind grew to slow motion. My hand slowly returned to haven, and went back painting the floor with the droplets of red. My eyes could see a faint distant red up ahead. I could hear the sound of ever blood drop hit the floor, with each sounding like a pounding echo inside of my ear. The red light started to illuminate and grew brighter, to a point where it was too intense for my eyes. A huge roar then sounded, and I was startled. Looking around, I was standing in the crosswalk, and was knocked out of my trance by the sound of horns from angry traffic. Quickly, I rushed out of the crosswalk and back on the sidewalk. I was entirely nervous about falling into another trance, so being three blocks away from the coffee shop I started whistling and counting cars.  
  
Luckily I made it to the coffee shop without having another episode. The outside looked dull, but inside, it was medium sized with about fifteen round tables, each with a fern. I glanced at my watch and noticed I was right on time. Looking around though, I had no clue which of them was Speed King, until a man sitting at a table in the middle of the room raised his hand. I approached the table steadily and he welcomed me. "Well hello Jack."  
  
"You know, it's not every day I talk to someone such as yourself in person."  
  
"Nonsense, you talk to Rick."  
  
"Rick's not a leader of highways, is he?" the man only snickered.  
  
"Please Jack, take a seat. Is there anything I can get for you? Tea? Coffee? Water?"  
  
"No, I'm fine," I said while pulling out a chair opposite to him."  
  
"Waiter, one tea please. So Jack, how have you been?"  
  
"I've been better."  
  
"We all have our off days, nothing to worry about."  
  
"So you just wanted me to come here for a friendly evening chat?"  
  
"This wasn't a problem was it?"  
  
"Oh, no. No problem at all. Not like I had anything better to do."  
  
"No, Jack. There is a problem. I'm getting a feeling that you have some tension of some sort."  
  
"Of course I have tension. You of all people would know why I'm so tense."  
  
"Me, what does this have to do with me? I just...," and I interrupted him while darting from my seat.  
  
"Come on! You know exactly what I'm talking about. Two years. Two years ago I and you raced, and you had the lead by far."  
  
"Yes, I remember that, and you won."  
  
"No! I didn't win. You claim I won. But you and I both know who really won that night."  
  
"Jack please..."  
  
"For two years I've done nothing but sit in that garage, in that car, for ten minutes every fucking day. Do you know what I did those ten minutes? Rethought the moment over and over and over," he then let out a huge sigh and sunk down a bit in his seat.  
  
"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out."  
  
"Obviously not too long."  
  
"Please, I didn't want you to come here to have a confrontation. I only wanted to talk."  
  
"Talk about what, huh?"  
  
"Just a friendly evening chat. Like you said."  
  
"Friendly, as in now we're friends?"  
  
"If you wish to look at it that way, then yes."  
  
"Right now, we're more like sworn enemies."  
  
"I didn't know it was going to affect you this way."  
  
"Well maybe, just maybe had you of thought for one tiny little second that your idea was unbelievably stupid, you wouldn't had to worry about how it would have affected me because you wouldn't have gone through with it!"  
  
"I'm sorry," before I went on to saying anything else, I had realized what I had said, and how I was close to yelling at him. With a huge inhale, followed by a slow exhale, I held on the chair, and lowered my voice.  
  
"I appreciate the invite, but right now I think I'm too emotionally unstable to handle this. Thank you though," I started to turn around and head for the exit but he began to speak.  
  
"Please, don't go just yet."  
  
"I'm sorry, but I have nothing more to say."  
  
"Yes, well I do," he sounded convincing and sincere enough so turned around and sat back down. At that same time, the waiter brought Speed King his tea, and I asked for a coffee. "To start off, I am Ripp Griffon. Secondly, yes I will admit, I gave you the race, intentionally. I only thought from the angle that you were seeing it at, that you would have thought I came to close to the back of a car and had to stop."  
  
"Why though? Why give me the race?"  
  
"I was so tired of winning. I wanted to see change, someone worthy of being the legend. Five times prior to that, you raced me, and all five times you lost. Normally people would only race two or three times then give up."  
  
"As nice as the logic sounds though, I was pretty guilt stricken by it, till finally hearing you admit to it. But that's exactly why I quit. At first I thought it couldn't hurt. No one knew about it but me and you. But eventually I couldn't handle having something that didn't belong to me."  
  
"Yes, well again, I am sorry."  
  
"Apology accepted."  
  
"I am glad we have settled that, but I still have something I need to tell you. Everything...," this was the last time in the conversation that I interrupted him.  
  
"Has changed. Everything has changed. I know because Rick told me."  
  
"You are still going to race knowing the changes that have come about."  
  
"Why not? I want to honestly earn that title. I'll do anything to get it."  
  
"Well then, I won't try to stop you. A man must do what he thinks is best for him."  
  
"I guess, but one question. Why did you agree to let all of this happen?"  
  
"Tyrant, the name he goes by, happens to be a close friend of mine. One time, before I held my title as speed king, I severely damaged my vehicle while going into a turn. I didn't break till it was too late. I think I broke two toes and pulled several muscles. He not only paid for my checkup, but he also paid for the fixing of my car. That day, I told him I owed him. When he came to me about the problem he was experiencing, I couldn't turn him away."  
  
"Nice friendship. But aren't you at all upset about him being the new ruler?"  
  
"He was always the better racer out of the two of us. He always had the faster car, the better skills, and the smaller temper. I wasn't at all surprised during the race when he beat me."  
  
"Nice story, Ripp."  
  
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"  
  
"It was neither. It was just a comment. But anyway, I think I better be on my way. I can't skip work two days in a row. Not to mention if I'm going to start racing tomorrow, I need the sleep."  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to stay any longer?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure."  
  
"Well then, I guess the only thing I have left to say is good luck."  
  
"When it comes to racing, I don't believe in luck."  
  
"Well then, I guess there is nothing more to say," and with that, I left the coffee shop and headed back to my apartment. When I got home, I decided to go through the door in my garage rather than through the front. As I walked through the garage towards my apartment, I took one look at my car, and knew that the time had come. This would be it. 


End file.
